


A Moment Alone

by Shir_Khan



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn, Spirit World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 16:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16268213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shir_Khan/pseuds/Shir_Khan
Summary: Three years after the war’s end, the gaang is in Ba Sing Se for the Annual International Peace Summit — which just so happens to fall on the winter solstice. While out celebrating, Zuko and Katara somehow cross into the spirit world. Unable to return, they must set out to find someone who can help them get back home, or learn to survive in this terrible, wonderful place.





	1. The Fortuneteller

The air in the middle ring is heady with smoke, carrying the smells of rotisserie meats and fruits, burning incense, and black powder from bang snaps and sparklers. These great dull plumes offer the only respite from the stinging, sour medley of incompatible perfumes wafting off the sea of passerby. Children weave wildly through the crowd, nearly upturning a display of hammered silver wind chimes, though their tinkling song can barely be heard over the din. All around, vendors and performers carry on their clamor without even sparing a glance.

Toph was right about one thing: no one was going to recognize them in this chaos.

“Come ooonnn, Snoozles,” the girl growls impatiently, tapping her bare foot on the packed dust. “Do we really have to stop at every other stall you see?”

At Toph’s cajoling, Sokka squeezes back into the circle of teenagers, elbowing a young girl in the face on his way. From beneath the hood pulled tightly down his face, Zuko spies not one, but two paper kites in the shape of twin koi clutched between the Water Tribe boy’s hands. He rolls his eyes.

“Hey, this is a _festival._ You’re allowed to enjoy shopping at a festival,” Sokka sniffs, shooting a haughty look at Toph. “Not that any of you wet blankets would know anything about that.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” Aang inserts amicably, bouncing a little too lightly on the balls of his feet and knocking his hat askew. He rights it quickly, but not before revealing a flash of the identifying blue ink that cuts down his forehead. The airbender’s excitability used to be bearable, endearing even, Zuko thinks with a wistful frown, but that was before he was fifteen and already towered half a head above him.

“Yeah, whatever, Twinkletoes,” Toph says as she pushes her way out of the circle, effectively leading everyone down the street. Zuko, trailing slightly behind, has to strain to hear her. “It’s not my idea of fun to stand around waiting for you to try on a new dress or whatever.”

Sokka makes an indignant spluttering noise up ahead. “That was _one_ time! And it’s a traditional warrior’s _outfit_ — besides, that’s not even — these are exotic, _handcrafted_ Earth Kingdom oddities!”

“But why do you need two of them?” Katara’s voice sounds from behind him, so close that it causes the hairs on the back of Zuko’s neck to stand on end. “What are you going to do, fly a kite in each hand?”

Sokka looks over his shoulder at his sister, his face scrunched in a thoughtful frown.

“These are kites?”

Zuko sighs through his nose, eyes ticking to the sky as if Agni himself could save him from this day. It’s not entirely his friends’ fault, and he knows he shouldn’t take his dark mood out on them, but he’s been nursing a headache since long before the sun burned out over the horizon, and the stress of being in the heart of Ba Sing Se during the largest festival of the year was... well, it was a bit much for Zuko.

He broke from his last meeting of the day with muscles aching and the overwhelming urge to curl up in ball in his chambers despite it being mid-afternoon when, by either a stroke of luck or an unfortunate misstep, he’d run into Toph. Toph, who’d invited him to join the gang in celebrating one of the few nights of the year that they were all in the same city at once. Toph, who’d said it would be the ‘party of the century’, yet still managed to get Zuko to join in.

The truth is, Zuko didn’t really need much convincing. This year’s international peace summit has been a grueling week, and he’s exhausted from navigating the tight ropes of endless formalities and political tension. There’s something cathartic about being able to leave it all behind, just for one night. Adorned in the civilian clothes he almost didn’t pack, wandering without purpose as a nameless face in the crowd.

And, of course, he’s happy to be surrounded by his friends again — in a social setting rather than around a round table discussing limits on trade. Zuko hates to admit it, but being Fire Lord is more isolating than he ever would’ve imagined. Sure, he has Mai and Uncle and now Suki, too, but he sometimes finds himself missing the war, if only for moments like this. Firebending every day, living for the moment, surrounded by friends; if he forgets all about the weeks spent trying to get everyone to forgive him and the constant, looming threat of death, it was actually a nice time.

Unfortunately, that elating feeling of freedom is tempered by a rising anxiety that builds with every glance spared his way, every lingering pair of eyes on his scar, every time Aang nearly gives away their identities in his careless exuberance.

“Guys! Check it out!”

Zuko snaps his head up to see what the monk in question is pointing to. The road has opened up to a sunken market square. Crowds gather on the steps, watching as four performers, each dressed in the coloring and style of one of the four nations, leap and twirl around the plaza with vibrant ribbons. A quartet of musicians stands off to the side, punctuating their dance with a dreamy song.

“I don’t get it. What the hell are they doing?” Toph asks.

Zuko watches them, captivated by the strange movements. The ribbons flutter and swirl gracefully in the air, creating odd shapes in the sky, almost like aerobatic calligraphy. The music slows as the dancers stalk one another in slow circles, each body racked with tension, when, suddenly, the pipa explodes with fury and the ribbon dancers swipe and lunge at each other, frenzied in their fight to triumph this bizarre battle.

He recognizes the score from his childhood studies: _Ambush from Ten Sides,_ a musical retelling of the battle of Shu Jing, where a general was so thoroughly defeated that he ended up committing suicide right on the Jang Hui river. It’s a violent and sad story, but for a moment, the melody transports him to a time of peace. The afternoon light spilling lazily through the blinds in the sunroom, cushions thrown haphazardly around the room by his fidgeting as he struggles to keep pace on the tsungi horn to his mother’s expert plucking, the delicate smell of jasmine...

He is so entranced that he almost misses his friends leaving to take seats on the stone steps. Following belatedly, he catches up with Katara’s side to hear her still bickering with Sokka.

“Well, I’m not helping you carry all this junk back to the palace. And we really need to be saving our money for food.”

Sokka actually has the decency to look chastised, though Zuko knows it’s only his fear of missing out on festival food. After only a second of deliberation, he leans over and blurts softly to Katara, so only she can hear.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I can buy you dinner later.”

Katara turns to him, her mouth popped into a little ‘oh’. But instead of a smile, her features sour to worry. She chews her lip before speaking.

“You don’t have to do that. Sokka swindling all our money isn’t your problem.”

His jaw twitches in frustration, working to say _really, it’s no trouble_ , when Suki cuts in, leaning over Sokka’s lap and grabbing Katara by the arm. She gestures towards one of the sidewalk vendors displaying jewelry on a blanket behind them, and they crawl over together, the conversation over.

Zuko watches her go, feeling oddly dejected. The few coppers it would cost him for a bowl of noodles cooked by the side of the road is really no big deal, and it’s the least he can do for a friend. But, as always, Katara is obdurate in her refusal to accept what she considers handouts.

While totally unnecessary, he can empathize with her stubborn desire for self-reliance. So instead of dwelling on it, he turns his attention to Toph and Aang on the step in front of him. The dancers are moving to a new song now, one that Zuko doesn’t recognize. Evidently, it’s from some play Aang saw over a hundred years ago.

The monk dives into a complicated explanation of four noble youth from each of the four nations, all trapped in a great love affair. Zuko tries and fails to keep up with his haphazard retelling of the plot, but all the stuff about about arranged marriages and love potions goes right over his head.

“This must be the part where Bansi takes Sapna to... no wait, that’s Bansi and Akane. Oh, yeah! I forgot to mention that the sorceress owes Hiroyuki a favor, so that’s why the love potion backfires on Bansi and that’s why he’s dancing with Akane instead of with Sapna, but that’s bad news for Hiroyuki because he’s in love with Akane, which is why he’s chasing them around.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all made up,” Zuko says, and Toph snorts.

Sokka bumps his shoulder, having slid into Katara’s vacated space.

“Yeah, that story was a bunch of nonsense. Why isn’t Bansi dancing with the yellow chick? Since when did he start liking Akane back?”

“Hey, it’s been a while since I saw the play,” Aang amends, rubbing the back of his neck, “But I’m, like, 90% sure that’s what happens.”

Down in the plaza, the girl in red is captured by her partner’s blue ribbon, and she twirls towards him. Aang snaps his fingers and points to the display, quirking a boastful brow at Zuko.

“See? Now Hiroyuki is going to confess his love.”

Sure enough, the music changes to something softer and the pair dance together, almost sensual in their tentativeness. The man slides to his knees before the red woman, his arms open to her, presenting himself as her prisoner. Blue and red swirl together, and for a while, Zuko lets the melancholy music wash over him.

A soft giggle behind him catches his passive curiosity and he glances over his shoulder at Katara and Suki, still kneeling by jewelry merchant. Just as his gaze makes contact with the girls, Suki closes in on Katara’s face and uses her littlest finger to paint her lower lip in a deep red stain. He chokes a little on his spit as he swallows, the dancers completely forgotten.

Sometimes he wonders if Azula would have had a life like this, if she were normal, if she weren’t currently locked away in the capital’s highest security mental asylum. He wonders what it would be like to grow up with a sister who played dress up with her friends instead of manipulating them into strangling the palace cats.

He jerks his head away, feeling like somehow he’s intruded on a private moment, and tries to bite back the bitter taste of nostalgia for something he’s never had. The erhu’s mournful cries arc through the sky while the guzheng drums quicker and quicker, rumbling the earth beneath him. Zuko tries to focus on the dancers, but the image of Katara’s lips, red as a plum and pouting under Suki’s touch stays burned in his mind, superimposed over the flurry of yellow, red, and blue.

They manage to make it through another song before Toph stands, stretching and yawning dramatically.

“Well, that’s enough of that.”

“What? But you haven’t even seen Hiroyuki and Bansi duel for Akane’s hand!” Aang tugs on the girl’s sleeve.

“I can’t _see_ any of it,” Toph says, waving a hand in front of her face. “And I’m getting bored, so let’s hit the road and check out the rest of this festival.”

“I’m with Toph,” Sokka says, standing and surveying the plaza, his fish kites tied to the strap of his messenger bag. Zuko rises to his feet as well, thinking of his uncle when he hears his joints crack with the movement.

“A man can’t survive off of pastries and tea,” Sokka continues, referring to the summit’s paltry lunchtime refreshments. “I need some meat.”

Aang, too, rises to his feet with an airbender’s grace just as Suki and Katara stumble back into the circle, giggling amongst themselves.

“There you are,” Sokka grins at the girls, snaking an arm around his girlfriend’s waist. Zuko can’t help notice Toph shuffling to point her feet away from the couple, her face neutral as polished stone.

“Alright, can we go now? We’re wasting precious moonlight here,” she grunts.

“Where do you want to go?” Zuko asks, shoving his hands in the sleeves of his old travelling cloak. As if he’d been waiting for that question all night, Sokka yanks a municipal map out of his bag, unraveling it violently with a single snap of the wrist. He makes a show of licking his thumb and dragging it down the coordinates along the edge. Across from him, Suki and Katara exchange not-so-covert looks, one resignedly charmed and the other amiably exasperated.

“I figure we’re in the central plaza of the wood district, since over there,” Sokka points to the east, down a street decorated with bright flags and lanterns strung back and forth from the highest windows, “is the silk district, where we got off the monorail, so steel district must be that way,” he points in front of them, towards black smoke rising above the rooftops, “and the spice district is over there,” he motions vaguely to the west, where, just at that moment, confetti geysers above a roaring crowd.

He rerolls the map, carefully returning it to his bag, when a feral grin splits his features.

“Councilman Harshul told me there’s a lot of butcher’s shops between Steel and Spice, and during festivals they have the _best_ barbeques.”

Aang winces.

“Do we have to? I’d rather stay for the rest of the show.”

“Well, I’d like to check out the steel district, maybe get some of my knives sharpened, see if anyone’s selling fans,” says Suki.

“Ugh, no more shopping,” Toph laments, throwing her head back. Her lips curl in a wicked smile. “We should head towards the residential area and crash some house parties.”

“Now THAT sounds like fun!” Aang nods. He turns towards Zuko and Katara, “What do you guys think?”

Katara thumbs the ends of her loose hair, low at her hips, looking stricken.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know...”

Zuko just shakes his head.

“If we start crashing parties, someone’s going to recognize us. It’s just reckless.”

The silence that settles over them is awkward and devoid of eye contact, as each friend casts about for activity ideas to appease everyone.

“How about we split up?”

Zuko looks to Katara in surprise. So does Sokka.

“Are you crazy, woman?” He cries. “You can’t split the party — what if someone gets lost? Or snatched?”

“Snatched?” Katara deadpans.

“I’ve heard some very unsettling things from Deputy Gopan about people disappearing in the lower ring,” he stage whispers the last words, eyes darting shiftily around the sparse crowd.

“Well, we aren’t in the lower ring, are we?”

“Body snatchers could be lurking anywhere, Katara!”

“Sure, right, like in all these populated, wealthy neighborhoods, which are regularly patrolled by guardsmen—”

“—Are you kidding? That’s the most opportunistic time for a snatcher to strike!”

“How would you know?”

“Deputy Gopan says—”

“—Deputy Gopan hasn’t stepped foot out his dusty old office in centuries—”

“—And he’s never been snatched. Coincidence?”

“Nobody wants to snatch you, Sokka,” Zuko cuts in before their bickering can get even further out of hand. “I think splitting up’s a good idea.”

Splitting up means less arguing. It also means less dawdling about asking to get recognized. Aang nods in agreement.

“Party-crashers come with me and Toph!”

He looks around with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Eh, I’m going with Sokka to the steel district,” Suki deflects, “Zuko? Want to come with us?”

Zuko smiles, caught off guard by the warm feeling of being included in things, but shakes his head. He would enjoy browsing the swords, but he knows how much Suki has been looking forward to this trip, and, in particular, to spending time alone with Sokka, since she’s been in the Fire Nation for nearly a year now training Kyoshi warriors to be his personal bodyguards.

“No, you guys enjoy it,” the corner of his mouth quirks up again in a half-grin, “try to keep Sokka from getting snatched.”

Suki’s laugh cuts off as abruptly as it starts, her comportment flipping so abruptly it’s scary. She bows to Zuko with full Fire Nation propriety.

“I’ll protect him with my life, my Lord.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka says, looking a little flustered with her gravitas, and tries to save face in the sudden attention by leaning down to plant a possessive kiss to her temple.

Katara turns to Zuko then, offering him a friendly smile.

“I guess that leaves you and me.”

Zuko smiles back and shrugs.

As the group drifts apart, Sokka starts blurting out the ‘ground rules’ for their walkabouts, his propensity for planning shit still annoyingly alive after all these years.

“Okay, everybody plan to meet back here in this plaza at midnight for the fireworks, alright? No excuses! We don’t want to get lost —”

“We got it, midnight!” Toph shouts, already several paces away, her and Aang eager to escape to the residential area.

“See you guys later!” Aang waves.

“Katara, don’t do anything stupid or dangerous, okay? I’m technically still responsible for you, so,” Sokka trails off as he and Suki bleed into the crowd.

“How could I? You’ll have taken all the stupid with you!” she shouts after him, smiling as she does. She turns back to Zuko, a brow quirked.

“Well, what would you like do until midnight?”

Zuko purses his lips, looking back down to the plaza, to the dancers. All four of them are performing, now, moving to the crowd’s rhythmic clapping. The song is aggressively mirthful and energizing, and it helps him solidify his mindset. Tonight might be his last night of freedom, at least until the next annual peace summit, but that will be at the North Pole, where it’s nearly impossible to disappear like this. He might as well _try_ having fun.

“Food?” He asks. Katara grins.

 

\--

 

They do end up eating noodles cooked by the side of the road, and, just as he predicted, Katara insists on paying for her own meal. After dinner, they wander, finding themselves drawn to the quieter outskirts of the city. The celebrations out here are reserved and peaceful, the locals preferring to drink together in their own homes or take leisurely strolls under the lantern lights, and it fits his mood.

When it’s just the two of them like this, it’s easy to pretend that the last year never happened. There’s no stilted small talk, no cautious probing into all that they’ve missed out on in each other’s lives, nothing forgotten and nothing to re-learn. Katara’s easy to talk to, and she _gets_ him. Conversation flows so effortlessly between them, he can almost pretend they’ve never spent a day apart, let alone an entire year.

Almost.

Some effects of time can’t be ignored. It still hits him like a punch to the gut how much she’s grown when he wasn’t looking. She looks older now — of course, they all do. He has yet to adjust to tilting his head up to in order meet Aang’s eye or seeing Toph’s features devoid of the softness of childhood. At seventeen years, Katara already looks like a woman; an unavoidable reminder of just how far they’ve come since the war.

She’s grown into her water-tribe cheekbones, famously strong and high, which now balance out the softness of her button nose and dimply smile. Her overly expressive doe-eyes that used to look so huge and childlike before have softened, now sly and feline like they’re holding back a secret she’s dying to let him in on.

Her figure has softened as well, not that Zuko has noticed. He definitely hadn’t detected the swell of hips swaying under her travelling cloak, or how starkly they contrast with her tiny waist, cinched tightly by the tie of her modest tunic. And he certainly hasn’t spotted how, when her trousers are tucked into her boots like this, it displays just how fucking toned her calves are —

He meets her eyes again to see her smirking at him, and he flushes, knowing he’s been caught zoning out. “Uh, sorry?”

She lets it slide, gesturing forwards with her chin. “I was just asking if you knew what those girls were doing. They’ve got wicked skill.”

He immediately sees the girls she’s referring to.

“Diabolo,” he says, “it’s a kind of juggling. Want to get a closer look?”

She eyes the diabolos whipping around on their flimsy strings with brows raised.

“Only if we stay out of the smack zone.”

Zuko chuckles and they walk together towards the girls. They can’t be older than eight or nine, but they have an abundance of confidence and, what was it Katara said?

Wicked skill.

The girls light up under their attention, eager to show off all that wicked skill to their teenage audience. They demonstrate a series of increasingly complex tricks, each stall, jump, and toss, earning them a shocked and impressed noise from Katara. The wicked skills come to a culmination when the girls spin and switch diabolos midair, ending the catch with a synchronized curtsy. Katara claps and laughs delightedly.

“You guys are so cool,” she praises them.

“Thanks!” the taller one beams. “Do you want to try?”

She outstretches her arms, offering up her diabolo and batons.

“What? I — uh,” Katara ducks her head, casting a furtive glance to Zuko, “I don’t know how to do that.”

“It’s easy,” Tall says.

“Yeah,” Short agrees, flashing them a toothless smile, “we’ll show you.”

Zuko nudges her with his elbow, feeling unusually playful. “C’mon, Katara, show us your wicked skills.”

She gives him an unimpressed look, but takes up the challenge like he knew she would, grasping a baton in each hand. Short steps up to Zuko, shyly proffering her own diabolo set. He holds his hands up and backs away, maintaining a safe distance between himself and the opportunity to look like an idiot.

“No, thanks.”

Short shrugs and returns to idly performing solo tricks.

“Ah! Zuko, look! I’m doing it!”

Katara squeals in satisfaction as she spins the diabolo back and forth along the length of the string. Tall stands behind her, gripping her elbows with tiny hands and guiding Katara’s arms alternately up and down in order to keep the diabolo spinning. Katara beams proudly at him, looking entirely like the girl’s personal puppet. Zuko rolls his eyes. It’s fucking adorable.

“Ready to make it jump?” Tall asks.

Katara falters. “No!”

“Just snap your arms out like this,” Small demonstrates, spreading her arms and pulling the string taught, causing the diabolo to fly into the air and fall back down onto the string.

“Uh...” Katara tears her gaze from her spinning diabolo to Zuko, and he gives her a thumbs-up of encouragement. She takes a breath and pulls the batons apart, causing the diabolo to hop up.

“Eep!” She lunges after it, letting it fall back onto the string.

“You did it!” Small exclaims. Katara hands the toy back to Tall with a pleased grin and thanks them. Her hair falls in her face when she gives them a semi-formal bow, and she has to blow it out of her eyes when she straightens again. Her arm loops around his and he catches her eye, bright and twinkling in the firelight, and lets her drag him onwards. Through the empty backstreets and narrow hutongs, he follows wherever she leads.

It’s not long before their path opens up again, taking them to a little flower garden. Snailflower vines climb up the walls and creep across the wooden beams shading the space. Green and gold lanterns are nestled beneath the leaves, their light reflects in the rippling pools of a small, ornate fountain in the center of the garden. It reminds him of Jin.

Katara breaks off and approaches one of the low-hanging vines. She reaches for one of the snailflowers, turning it carefully with her fingers. While she inspects it, Zuko regards her.

“You know,” he says before he loses the courage, “once, when I was living in the lower ring, I told a girl I was a juggler. But then she asked me to juggle for her and I... totally sucked at it. I dropped everything. In the middle of a restaurant, too. It was a train wreck.”

Katara tears her attention from the flower, her face torn between sympathy and amusement. Amusement wins out, and she erupts in a peal of giggles.

“Why did you tell her you were a juggler if you can’t juggle?”

His hand twitches, seeking to rub the back of his neck out of habit.

“Well, I, uh, kind of told her I used to be in a circus?”

She snorts out more laughter.

“Why? What led you to weave this web of lies?”

“I don’t know. We were — sort of — on a date. She kept asking questions about my past and it’s not like I could answer! We were living undercover.”

She smiles reassuringly at his embarrassment, but Zuko swears he sees something devious spark behind her eyes.

“Does she still live here? Oh, Zuko, we have to find her!”

He gives her a double take. She can’t be — she better be joking. He’s never been good at telling when his friends are just teasing him. Flustered, he stomps away. Katara cackles behind him.

 

\--

 

They’re approaching an area that reminds him of where him and his uncle lived when the city bell tolls nine. They’ve been out for three hours, with three more hours to kill before meeting the others.

“So, how are things going as Fire Lord?”

Zuko chuckles and has to stop himself from running a hand through his hair and risk dislodging the hood of his cloak. It’s getting longer now, cropped near his collarbones, and Zuko sometimes wishes it was still short, like how it was right before the end of the war, or sometimes even before that, in Ba Sing Se. He forgot how heavy and constantly in-your-face long hair was.

“Things have been alright, dismantling some of the older colonies has been particularly tricky —”

“I want to know what’s up with _you_ ,” she corrects gently. Then she gives him that smile, the one where she tilts her head and looks up at him through her lashes, and it makes him do whatever she asks. She plays dirty. He sighs.

“I don’t know. Stressful.” _Lonely._ “But fine,” he adds when he sees her worried look. “I have Uncle to advise me, so. And Mai helps.”

Katara presses her lips together and nods. “How is Mai?”

“She’s good. She wanted to join us, but — uh, she couldn’t?”

The uncertain inflection at the end of his sentence makes it sound like a question, and he cringes. He’s never been good at lying. When he invited Mai to come out with them, her exact words were ‘I’d rather have another slumber party with Ty Lee and her sisters than endure an hour in the city with those bozos. You have fun, though’. Katara seems to catch on.

“I understand,” she chuckles. “But I know it hasn’t been easy for you lately. I heard the rumors about the New Ozai Society resurgence.”

She lowers her gaze, her voice softening unbearably.

“How have you been dealing with that?”

Zuko can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s avoided broaching that topic with the gang for a reason, both to keep them from worrying about him and because of the primal anxiety he gets just by thinking about it.

“I don’t know. These last few months have been tough,” he says carefully. He takes a deep breath, feeling all his frustration threaten to spill out at once. The words have been locked in his chest for so long, it feels like they’re always clawing at the back of throat, desperate to escape. He thinks of the riots in Caldera city, and the hatred he’s seen all week in the eyes of the other visiting dignitaries.

“My countrymen don’t respect me because I’m not enough like my father, but none of the other leaders trust me because they think I’m too much like him.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them. He chances a quick look at Katara, whose whole face is drawn in a troubled frown. Uncomfortable, he opens his mouth to backpedal, but is cut off.

“Zuko,” she says with some heat, tugging on the sleeve of his robe to get him to face her fully. “That’s not true. Your father was toxic for your country, and you’re nothing like him. It’s the best thing about you.”

Zuko’s lips part in momentary shock. Katara continues on, unfazed.

“Your uncle is right — you’re the best person for this position. With time, Keui and Arnook and all the others will come to see that, just as I have.”

Zuko looks at her in disbelief. The way she beams up at him — like she’s already put all her faith in him — it only makes his stomach plummet further. Her reassuring words are instead another weight on his shoulders, another source of guilt to coil around his gut.

“How can you say that? I’ve made so many mistakes; I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s only a matter of time before I fuck up again,” he shakes his head, the dam on his words finally breaking, “I feel like I’m barely holding on here.”

He can’t even look at her, but her silence and the subtle shift of her weight is enough of an answer. _Great, now I’ve made_ her _uncomfortable._ He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Come here,” she says, and suddenly she’s tugging on his arm, dragging him down one of the narrow alleyways.

“Katara, what —” he trails off as they come to a stop in front of a doorway in the dilapidated earth wall. Well, more of a person-sized hole covered by a tattered drape. Zuko eyes the sign hanging above the entrance. The paint inlaying the carved characters has nearly faded with time; it takes him an extra moment to read it. When he does, he groans.

“Fortunetelling?”

“Yes. It’ll show you that everything’s going to be fine. It’s all meant to be.”

Zuko’s lip curls in a grimace, and he looks briefly between her, with her encouraging smile, and the sign.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in that nonsense. They just tell you what you want to hear.”

She sniffs, as if personally affronted. “It isn’t nonsense! When we were travelling the Earth Kingdom, before you joined us, we went to a very wise fortuneteller and you know what? Every one of her predictions ended up coming true.”

He can feel an eyebrow rising in unsure concern. All this time and he thought Katara was one of the smart ones. She rolls her eyes at his expression.

“Won’t you at least feel better knowing that even a stranger believes in you?”

He crosses his arms, biting back the caustic ‘no’ that will only serve to get him a whap on the arm. He wants to argue. He’s been to fortunetellers before with his uncle, and all they’ve ever done is wax poetic about troubled energies and ‘self-inflicted suffering’. But Katara’s got that look in her eye, simultaneously flinty and eager, like she knows she already has the argument won and is just waiting for the other person to realize it.

He looks around for an out. Further down the alleyway, a couple of thugs are playing dice and eying Katara’s backside with looks that Zuko wants to punch right off their faces. Around the corner, a hollow-faced man and a darkly colored woman exit another drape-covered alcove, eyes glassy and lips stained yellow as if they’ve been drinking paint. Zuko sees no way out of this, and he definitely doesn’t want to linger here much longer, so he finally rests his eyes back on Katara.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, and she nearly squeals, pulling him through the curtain. His regret is instant.

Zuko blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the dark inside the building. Most of the light comes from the alley, spilling through the edges of the doorway and lurching across the room in time with the flapping of the drape. Sparse candlelight dots several shelves, cubbies, and tables throughout the room, revealing the mountains of clutter they house. He sees crystals, dusty old books, animal specimens floating in green jars, skulls of animals he’d never seen before, a wine rack stocked full of incense — and that was just the half of it.

“Looking for a reading, little ones?”

Katara flinches comically at the high, adenoidal voice that appears out of nowhere. They turn to see an old woman watching them from another doorway, previously hidden behind a curtain disguised as a decorative tapestry.

“Yes,” she answers, her voice more sure than Zuko feels. “For myself and my friend.”

The old woman grins, her barely there set of stained teeth glint under her hooked nose. Her wrinkles carve into her sallow skin, curving around two beady green eyes.

“Excellent,” she crows, “Would you like to be read first, my lovely?”

“No,” Zuko interrupts, shaking his head and half-stepping in front of Katara. “No, nope. We’ll go together.”

Katara turns to Zuko with what he expects is a confused look, but Zuko keeps his sights locked on the woman. The hag narrows her eyes at him.

“You have a loud energy about you. Your presence might interact negatively with my ability to read the fates.”

“That’s okay,” Katara says cheerfully. “We’d mostly like to know his future.”

“Ah, I see.”

The woman’s gaze flits to Katara, then back to Zuko. Her expression morphs into something odd, fixing him to the spot. For a second, Zuko thinks she must recognize him. But the moment passes and she releases him, spinning on heal to disappear through the tapestry.

“Follow me, then,” she calls behind her.

Katara and Zuko exchange a glance. Before he can get a word in, Katara shrugs and pushes back the tapestry. And like always, he follows her. Behind the tapestry is a long and narrow passageway, illuminated by glowing green crystals — just like in the catacombs under the palace. Zuko shudders, a chill settling deep into his bones.

Except, instead of mud and bone and impenetrable, seeping stone, the walls and ceiling here are covered in soft cloth, decorated in intricate mandalas and beautiful symbols Zuko doesn’t recognize. The walls feel like they’re shaking, vibrating with music and conversation somewhere above them, and he swears the air grows heavier the further they walk.

“Are you sure about this, Katara?” he hisses. “This place feels dangerous.”

“C’mon Zuko, it’s all just a front. It’s supposed to feel dark and mystical.”

Zuko doesn’t reply, merely feeling the fabric of the walls brush against his shoulders as they turn another corner. Are the hallways getting narrower?

Katara, misinterpreting his wariness, takes on a playful tone.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting snatched?”

“This lady just creeps me out. She looks like a witch.”

Katara gasps, “Zuko! Don’t be rude!”

“Yeah, I might insult the witch and she’ll cook us up for supper or something,” he mutters under his breath, ducking his head under the fabric, and straightening to find they’ve entered a dimly lit room —

“I am no witch, but I can assure you my powers are beyond this world.”

Zuko’s cheeks burn with embarrassment, and Katara glares at him. The woman doesn’t seem to mind the slight, however, as she calmly directs them to sit at the low table before them, from which a large glass ball protrudes.

Zuko sinks into the old floor cushion. It’s lumpy and uncomfortable. On top of that, he feels like he can hardly breathe, the air is so stale and thick with incense. He tracks witchy lady with an angry glare as she hobbles over to an antique iron stove in the corner and readies a black kettle on top of it.

She looks back to them over her shoulder. “I don’t normally perform multiple readings at once, but you two are an interesting pair. Even by living as long as I have, you don’t often see your eyes in these parts, let alone found on companions.”

“The world is changing,” Katara says with a tight smile. “The war is over. The nations are allies again.”

“So they are,” the fortuneteller agrees, finishing up at the stove.

She takes her time seating herself on the floor opposite them. When she’s settled, she lays her palms against the tabletop and cocks her head, assessing them. Zuko can tell Katara is buzzing with excitement, but he can’t understand why. He just wants to get this over with.

“Let us begin,” the fortuneteller says, flipping her hands palm up on the table. Katara grasps her hand and holds another up between them. The women stare at him, waiting. Oh. Zuko fights an eye roll and takes their hands, first Katara’s in his left, then the fortuneteller’s in his right.

She addresses Katara first. “Peer into the eye and witness your fate.”

The eye? Ah, she must mean the crystal ball. The three of them watch as it fills with smoke, glittering hazy swirls fogging up the domed glass. _It’s a neat trick_ , Zuko concedes, _she’s probably hiding more of that damn incense under the table_.

“I know what you wish to ask, dear, and the answer is no. You have been misguided, chasing after these righteous beacons. Look into the darkness, and you will find the light within. Look into the darkness, and you will never be blind.”

Zuko frowns, but apparently the nonsense means something to Katara, given the way she deflates and nods at the table with a solemn look in her eye. He looks back to the fortuneteller and flinches, caught off guard by her beady eyes boring into him.

She ticks her eyes down meaningfully. Zuko glances at Katara, and she smiles eagerly at him. Resigned, he leans forward and looks into the crystal ball.

“You have stepped upon soil of many lands, but the ones you love are closer than you think...”

Zuko can’t help the eye roll this time. The ‘fortune’ sounds like one of Uncle’s proverbs: charming on its surface, but devoid of any useful content.

“...The farther you run, the deeper they will burrow in your soul...”

At first he thinks it’s his imagination, but he begins to see shapes take form inside the smoke. He leans in closer.

“...Always looking to the past for belonging, never beyond your feet...”

He sees wildflowers, soft ribbons of light scattered on the forest floor, falling snow.

“...There’s a choice in who surrounds you, but not with whom you’re bound...”

He hears the ocean. There’s violence in the waves, shifting and crashing together.

“...You have the power to change your fate, but not your destiny.”

The kettle whines, startling him back to reality. The fortuneteller turns and removes it from the stove. When he looks back to the crystal ball, all he sees in it is grey smoke. He shakes his head and slips his hand out from Katara’s.

“But what about his...” Katara ticks her head to the side, searching the right word, “professional aspirations?”

The fortuneteller arches a brow at her. She peers into the swirling fog in the crystal once more, but sighs.

“Your future in this realm is clouded, but perhaps we can use another method.”

She pulls two small clay cups from a nearby cupboard and pours them each a cup of tea, sprinkling the leaves right in the water. She scoots them across the table.

“Drink from your cup and we will see what the leaves tell us.”

The cups are barely large enough for one swallow. Zuko, a man who prefers not scalding his tongue, clasps his in both hands and concentrates on channeling out some of its heat. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Katara cool her own cup with a frosty breath across its surface. She tilts her head back, emptying the cup in one go. Zuko’s is close behind.

“Now tell me, darlings,” the fortuneteller’s voice sounds around them, “What do you see?”

Zuko peers down into his cup, trying to make sense of the leaves at the bottom.

“I see, well, it looks like an hourglass,” Katara comments quietly. “But if I look in the negative space, I see a rabbit.”

“The rabbit is a good omen. It is a call for bravery; if you accept, you will soon shed the illusions that burden you. But the hourglass is a warning. Time is running out, you must decide quickly or be deluded forever. Seek balance, synchronicity.”

Zuko squints at his leaves, wondering if he really drank all the tea in the cup. The leaves look like they’re still moving, like sand under the shore.

“I just see a bunch of squiggly lines. No, wait,” he turns the cup around in his palms a full half-rotation until the shape finally pops out at him. “I see a hand? Sort of, a lumpy hand?”

The witch’s voice sounds from somewhere far away, high and musical. “A journey awaits you, but it is wrought with many wrong turns. Perhaps the ocean calls you. Do not let mistakes prevent you from rising again. The hand will offer friendship. Creation. God.”

The cup drops from his hands with a clatter, his head won’t stop swimming. Either he’s suffocating from the all the incense smoke, or... He shoves himself away from the table, trying to rise.

“I — I need some air,” Katara gasps at his side, and he watches her flee the room.

“Katara, no, wait!”

The urge to protect her sobers him, momentarily clearing his head enough to stagger after her. In this state, she could get ambushed, she could be hurt or — or taken advantage of. Agni, he should have listened to Sokka about the body snatchers!

The hallway seems to breathe around him, warping and constricting unnaturally, and there’s way more turns then he remembers there being on the way in. As he races from the room, he hears the witch’s voice again, coming from inside his head like a memory.

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with this first step.”

His vision blacks out and he stumbles, his legs giving out under him. By sheer force of will, he holds himself slumped against the cool wall, crawling blindly along it until something gold flashes before him, and in the light he sees Katara. His feet race to eat up the space between them but somehow they get tangled together. He falls to his knees just as the fresh, cool outdoor air hits his lungs.

Retching noises to his side make him turn, but the lantern light is just too bright to see. He squints. Katara is hunched over, bracing herself on her knees, vomiting right in the alleyway. There’s barely enough sense left in him to right himself and walk over. He collects her hair as gently as he can with sweaty, shaking fingers and fists it together at the nape of her neck.

She whimpers at him in between heaves, either out of gratitude or mortification, Zuko’s not sure. He holds her hair back for as long as he can as she empties herself onto the dust, but Zuko’s always been quite grossed out by vomit, and whatever was in that tea has enhanced every disgusting sight, sound, and smell caused by Katara’s chewed up noodles making mud in the street. It soon becomes too much for him and he staggers backwards to lean against the wall. His panting turns to dry heaves and then he’s vomiting, too.

“Hey, it’s okay, let it out, shhh,” Katara’s coos at him, her voice shaky from her own sickness, while a hand rubs his back soothingly. He remembers vaguely that his mother used to do that when he was sick as a child, then Uncle a few times during their first year at sea so, so long ago.

Purging himself definitely helps. When his stomach is finally empty, he feels infinitely better. He stays slumped against the wall, letting the cool breeze catch the sweat on his forehead, until the hand on his back stills.

“Zuko?” Katara asks timidly. “I—I think I’m seeing things.”

Zuko looks to Katara, the sheen of sweat on her flushed cheeks and neck sparkling in the lantern light, then out to the alleyway. What awaits him causes his jaw to drop. He rubs his eyes and takes a step forward, only managing one breathless sentence.

“I see it too.”


	2. City of Walls and Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looky here!! Please note the change in warning from “no warnings apply” to “graphic depictions of violence”. Nothing gory—just a little canon-typical violence here and there—but I figure it’s better safe than sorry to advertise that now. This is my first fanfic so I’m still figuring all this tagging and warning stuff out :\ On that note, this chapter will be a little darker than the rest of the story in terms of references to violence, war, and death (this was meant to be sort of my ‘Halloween episode’, as it was written well before Halloween, but it took so darn long to edit it into something readable that it’s officially past ‘fashionably late’ whoops lol).
> 
> I really want to thank everyone who’s read this far and left kudos/comments, your feedback makes my day! :3

“She really was a witch,” Katara breathes.

“No. No, this is just... an elaborate hallucination.”

Zuko’s legs are shaking under him, and he isn’t sure if it’s making him sway or if his vision is just blinking in and out. All he can do is stand there, staring dumbly at a city he barely recognizes. It was as if the once-shabby backstreet had been hit by a tidal wave of vibrancy and vitality.

There, where there used to be nothing more than boarded up windows, now sports a crowded bar. Mouth-watering steam billows from the grill, and Zuko can hear the scraping of cutlery coming from somewhere within. And over there, where those men had been playing dice, now stands a group of businessmen in carnival masks, deep in conversation.

Someone shoves against his shoulder roughly, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Hey, watch where you’re — gyeaahhh!” Zuko recoils in shock when the jerk turns to face him and the head of a frog blinks back. The frogman lumbers onward, unperturbed.

He turns to Katara, who is openly gaping at the bar. He follows her line of site to the fattest person Zuko has ever seen gracelessly rolling off one of the stools. Except, it isn’t a person. Not really. The closest thing Zuko can equate it to is the unholy spawn of a boar and a tomato.

And that’s when it hits him. No one was wearing a mask.

“I don’t know, you’re seeing this, too right?” Katara’s voice wavers with too many emotions for Zuko to place. He frowns.

“You mean the frog people and the tomato monster? Yes.”

“Then it’s not a hallucination.” She nods absently, face hardening as if making a decision. When she meets his eyes, her expression is resolute. “I think we somehow crossed a portal into the spirit world.”

Zuko appraises the area again with new eyes.

“The spirit world? Are you sure?”

“I think so. There’s one way we can find out. Try bending.”

Zuko opens his hand to summon a flame, and is shocked to find it empty. He feels his chi thrumming beneath the surface of his skin, burning brightly yet unresponsive to his will. Frustrated, he goes through a form, growling when that, too, doesn’t ignite anything. Katara, however, actually looks relieved. Her shoulders relax noticeably underneath her travelling cloak.

“That’s it, then. Humans can’t bend in the spirit world, so that must be where we are.”

“Well, how do we get back?” he huffs. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get in touch with the agitated flow of energy roiling inside him.

“If we just went back through the way we came — oh, no.”

“What?”

Katara palms the earth wall, and fear crashes down on him when he figures out what’s wrong.

“Where’s the door?” he asks, panic swelling in his gut.

“I—I don’t know. It was right here, wasn’t it?”

They both look around frantically, searching the wall from corner to corner.

“That fucking witch!” Zuko kicks the wall, not even caring when the force of his outburst knocks his hood off. “How the hell are we supposed to get back to the normal world?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Katara says, ever the voice of calm. Her hands pat down the air as she collects herself. “Tonight’s the winter solstice, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. I’m sure that’s opened up plenty more portals to cross through, or... that’s it!”

“What?”

“We’ll find Aang! He’s the bridge between worlds, his spirit is always in contact with the spirit world, so if we can find a way to communicate with him, he can get us out!”

Zuko runs a hand through his hair, absently noting how gritty and damp it is from sweat.

“How are we supposed to find him in all of Ba Sing Se?”

Katara’s hopeful expression falters for a second, then she smiles.

“He was going party crashing with Toph, right? We’ll just look for him in the residential district.”

She says it like it’s so easy, like the residential district isn’t full of thousands of people, all packed in hundreds of tiny, stacked apartments. Not to mention how difficult it will be to find him from an _entirely separate_ _plane of existence._ The magnitude of it rushes over him as a fresh wave of nausea.

His back presses into the wall again, and he tries desperately to rein in his emotions before he has a full blown panic attack because _holy fuck_ this can’t be happening, he’s the Fire Lord now and he doesn’t have time for this shit, because there is no way they’re finding Aang here and he can’t even imagine the scope of the situation they’re in he just _can’t_ —

“Hey,” Katara’s instantly by his side, her still pale face fills his rapidly narrowing vision. “It’s okay, this is no big deal. Sokka got stuck in the spirit world once, and he got out just fine.”

Zuko nods a little, remembering hearing that story once from Sokka himself, though he didn’t quite believe it at the time — Sokka has a tendency to embellish his stories beyond all recognition. And yet...

He lets out a painfully controlled breath.

“Uncle travelled the spirit world once, too, and he found a way out.”

Katara squeezes his bicep.

“We’ll find Aang.”

He looks back at her, beginning to appreciate being stuck with the most reassuring companion of the bunch. She may be optimistic to the point of foolishness, but her hopefulness right now is contagious, and direly needed in order to face this ridiculous situation.

He steels himself with another deep breath. Then another. He keeps pulling in slow, deliberate lungfuls of air until he can feel his muscles relax one by one and his mind start to clear. The tea is already losing some of its hallucinogenic effect; the lanterns don’t shine as brightly anymore, and the dizzying shimmer that had shrouded every surface has dulled. His chi still feels off, somehow more powerful and numbed at the same time, but he locks that feeling away with the rest of his unhelpful emotions. When his heart rate steadies, he steps from the wall.

“Do you remember which way we came from? Where the plaza is?” Katara asks. Her face is neutral but her eyes are still alight with concern.

Zuko scans the area, forcing himself to stay rational and detached. While jarringly alien, the spirit world’s Ba Sing Se seems to retain the bones of its mortal counterpart. The streets and buildings appear to be laid out in the same way, though they now house an entirely inhuman culture.

There are posters and signs all around that Zuko can’t read because the characters themselves belong to some indecipherable language. The shop windows are lined with more bizarre junk than can be found even in his uncle’s collections: glorious stones; dazzling gems; books as large tree stumps; silks as fine as iridescent glass; beautiful animals trapped in copper cages; monstrous insects pinned open inside display frames, their wings spread like paint on canvas; instruments and other contraptions so unnecessarily complex they would make Sokka’s mouth water.

“We came from that way,” he says with certainty. “But I’m not sure where the plaza is from here, let alone the residential district.”

Katara chews her lower lip. “Let’s retrace our steps back to the plaza, then we’ll look for Aang and Toph.”

“Or,” he says slowly, his eyes widening, “we could go back to the palace apartments and just wait for them to come back for the night.”

She shakes her head. “No, I thought of that, but — well, how are we going to get to the inner ring? We took the monorail across the wall, but I don’t know if there even is something like that here, since there’s no earthbending.”

Zuko mutters a curse and rubs his chin in his palm.

“Let’s just stick to the plan, alright? Back to the plaza, find Aang, and go home.”

Her words are confident, but her fingers splay across her temples nervously. She hides the tick by carding them through her curls, pretending to just be smoothing the loose strands back out of her face. But Zuko knows. She’s scared, too.

They rush back towards the plaza, passing dozens of spirits in varying degrees of human likeness. Some are quite anthropomorphic, their odd features barely more assuming than a costume. If Zuko passed them in the mortal world, he doubts he would give them a second glance.

Others are more beast-like, like they’ve sprung straight from the illustrations of the fairy-tales Ursa used to read to him and his sister. He sees umbrellas hopping on single wooden legs; a flying scrap of fabric that takes the shape of a person when it hits the ground, only to unravel again when it leaps into the air; a formless blob of flesh that smells like fermenting vomit, with hundreds of tiny eyes hiding in its rolls.

Strangely, the spirits keep gawking at them as if _they_ were the odd ones there. Some give them double takes, stunned and bewildered. Others sneak furtive, fearful glances, and others still have the audacity to openly gape and point as they pass.

A man with two tusks poking up out of his mouth leans heavily against the ledge of a second-story window, glowering at them with his one giant eye. He brings a cigarette as long as Zuko’s forearm to his lips and burns half of it in a single inhale.

Down on the street, three woman stand together gossiping, their faces painted with so much makeup, Zuko can’t even tell what they look like underneath. As he and Katara pass, one of them — one with knots of snakes pinned atop her head in place of hair — leans over and whispers to the others, holding his eye the entire time. The three of them titter together and Zuko scowls.

He almost misses when a cloaked figure steers into them and spits at Katara’s feet.

“Filthy humans,” the creature says in a voice like swallowed gravel.

Zuko fumes. He lunges towards the figure, ready to kick some spirit ass, when Katara steps between them, her hand pressing firmly against his sternum. The figure slips around a corner, disappearing from view.

“Look over there,” she instructs. “Isn’t that where those girls were playing with the diobolos?”

Zuko gives her a look. He knows what she’s doing, but he chooses to play along.

“No. We already passed that. We’re closer to the noodle stand where we ate.”

Katara nods. She knows that; they passed the diabolo alley a few blocks back.

“I guess it just looks familiar.”

Zuko grunts in response.

“If the noodle stand is down that direction, the residential district should be close by,” she continues. “Maybe we should break right here, cut straight through to the South.”

He grits his teeth and clenches his fists at his sides, still incensed over that disrespectful spirit with the voice like swallowed gravel.

“Let’s take this road, then,” he concedes, jerking his chin to the right.

She follows him, down the road that takes them southbound, pace brisk and purposeful. The amount of attention they receive on this road is no different then before, but since the gravel-voiced spirit, every little glance their way feels exceedingly loaded. Alarm trickles up Zuko’s spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He yanks his hood back over his face.

It’s not good enough.

“Hey! Hey, those are humans!” someone shouts behind them.

His eyes snap to Katara’s.

“Run!” he commands, fingers encircling her wrist to yank her forward.

“Someone stop them!”

They barrel down the street, narrowly avoiding knocking down a slug spirit peddling a cart full of wares. The next cart isn’t so lucky; Katara checks it with her hip, sending a waterfall of brightly colored carnations tumbling down the steep stone steps. Zuko takes them all in a single running leap, his soft-soled boots slide half a meter over the slippery petals when he lands.

“I know how to run without you holding my hand!” Katara snaps behind him, but Zuko doesn’t let go, instead taking a breakneck turn through the closest doorway. His shoulder slams into the long wooden panels that act as curtain, then another, their clanging following them as they’re plunged in blackness.

Inside, they falter.

Red strings of light fall from the high ceiling onto a large crystal growing in the center of the spacious room, the only source of illumination. Zuko can hear soft gasps resonate from the shadows at their startling entrance, but it’s too dark to see whom they belong to. All that’s visible is the bright crystal, and a woman standing by it.

She’s... stunning. Her skin and hair are as pale as porcelain; her flowing robes the colors of polished seashells. And her face, almost too perfect to be beautiful, is totally serene, blissfully ignorant to her new visitors. She’s radiant — no, _glowing_ in the darkness.

Her slender fingers pluck the red beams of light as if they were the strings of a harp, causing the crystal below to twinkle and wink wherever the light falls. The light induces sounds from deep inside the prism, distorted and heavenly, like music playing under water.

The sounds are intoxicating, making his skin tingle with overstimulation. He closes his eyes and hums at the feeling, limbs turning to warm jelly. Katara slumps against his side, and his skin buzzes where it touches her.

The wooden crashing sound returns, and they jolt apart when the room suddenly fills with light, ice water for his senses. Several spirits pour through the doorway, led by a furious-looking baboon spirit, dressed in so many layers of over-sized, fancy clothes it looks like he’s drowning in fabric. The baboon aims a furry finger in their direction. Light glints off his thick gold rings before the wooden panels swing back into place and cut the room in shadow.

“Apprehend those humans!”

Zuko’s heart constricts. His mind is racing, trying to mentally calculate their chances of survival without weapons or light. They weren’t good.

A hand reaches for him out of the darkness and he twists, shoving the assailant to the ground. But that music keeps playing, getting louder in his head. It’s distracting. When a second spirit jumps him from behind, he doesn’t respond quickly enough to divert its weight, and the creature tackles him to his knees. His muscles tense, twitching in time with the melody, locking up when he needs them most.

“Let go of me!” Katara growls. He turns to her voice and sees her gritty silhouette land a kick right to the gut of what he thinks is the baboon spirit, only to be pulled off balance by two other spirits crowding in on her.

Something’s shoved in his face — something soft and plushy and fragrant. He tries to turn his head away but the thing is pushed farther into his nose and mouth. It’s a flower, Zuko thinks, trying not to suffocate on its sweet scent. The music vibrates all around him, his body heaves to the _thump thump thump_ of its languid rhythm. He blinks, wondering where his knees went in the darkness. _Thump._

He’s lost all sense of his body. His limbs could be anywhere.

_Thump._

Some distant part of his memory abruptly recognizes the flower’s scent. Pungent and noxious, its often used to subdue... he loses the trail of thought.

_Thump_.

 

Sleeping lotus.

 

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

 

Zuko comes to with a start, sweaty and cotton-mouthed. The thumping doesn’t go away. It’s loud and obnoxious and shakes his whole frame. He groans and tries to open his eyes. Blinking through swimming vision, he sees Katara’s long hair swishing in front of his face. They’re being carried somewhere, he realizes, slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

All at once, he’s falling through the air, and the ground smacks against his back. It should probably hurt more than it does, but his whole body is still numb and noodle-like. Then a weight presses into him, and he coughs on a mouthful of hair.

“Sorry, sorry!” Katara rolls off him and stands drunkenly.

Zuko sits up, as well, craning his neck to look up at the massive monument before them. They’re at the wall. He can see the outskirts of the city just beyond the open gate, and the reptilian-like beast that must have tossed them here sauntering away.

“Hey!” Katara dashes after him, but is knocked backwards right before she passes through the gate. Her fingertips probe cautiously at the air, meeting an invisible barrier. It ripples like the surface of a flat pool.

“What the hell! Let us back in!”

He watches from the ground as she slaps the barrier hard, then gasps and recoils.

“Wait! I’m sorry! Forgive me, spirit!” she calls after the beast’s disappearing form.

She turns her palms to the sky and looks around, at a loss for a moment. Then she pushes back against the barrier.

“O Great Spirit! We have forgotten who we are! Help us to restore our humanity! ... Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“What are you doing?” Zuko asks slowly, worrying that the sleeping lotus was still fogging her mind. She whirls around, and gives him a jerky shrug.

“Praying.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes. Stupid spirits, the body-snatching, forcibly-drugging assholes. His inner flame rages with frustration, frustration that’s stoked further by the fact that he can’t let off steam by bending.

“What? They’re spirits aren’t they?” Katara defends, misattributing his grumpiness, “You’re supposed to pray to the spirits.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t,” Zuko snaps, “They’re obviously all dicks.”

Katara winces and runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I never should have taken us to that fortuneteller.” A pause. “But it wasn’t my fault that she tricked us here.”

Zuko gapes at her. “Not your fault? This is entirely your fault!”

Katara scoffs and places her hands on her hips. “How was I supposed to know that lady was a witch or a spirit or whatever?”

“How?” he repeats incredulously. “How about her creepy voice and all her dead animals and her magic fucking ball! All the signs were there!”

“Well, yelling at me isn’t going to help us!” she snaps.

“It’s helping me!” he shouts, vision going red from vexation and anxiety and sheer exhaustion.

They glare at each other for a long moment. This was another aspect of their friendship Zuko forgot about: the bickering. But he can’t help it this time. This place is like a thunderstorm, the energy somehow simultaneously dark and cloudy, yet brimming with an electric tension that could strike at any moment.

His face softens as he starts to lose their staring match, remorse steadily overtaking his pride. Ultimately she’s right, of course, arguing will get them nowhere — but really, it’s still her fault. They _were_ now trapped in the spirit world because of Katara’s little adventure.

As if she can hear his thoughts, she breaks eye contact and stomps past him, away from the gate. He turns on heal and watches her go.

“What are you doing? Get back here!”

No answer. Throwing up his hands, he stalks after her, having to practically jog to make up the distance.

“Where the hell are you going? Aang is that way,” he gestures violently behind them.

Katara shakes her head slightly, folding her arms tightly against her chest.

“Obviously,” she seethes, “but we can’t get back in there. And if we do, all the spirits will just kick us out again.”

Zuko stares at her, waiting for her to continue. She doesn’t, and he stubs his toe on a root. Turning his attention back to the path, he sees they’ve arrived at a large signpost. It looks like it’s been sitting untended for centuries, nearly overtaken as it is by plant life.

It’s gotten darker now that they’re farther from the wall. The only light comes from the occasional braziers that mark the roadside. Their firelight catches in the thick vines wrapped around the rotting wooden post.

“So what’s your next big plan, find another witch to drug us and see if it sends us back?”

“Well, since you’re being no help at all, I’m going to find someone who can help us.”

She sets off again, in the direction of the ‘Valu River’ according to the sign, which Zuko thinks runs to the West. He can’t imagine whom she knows who can help them out here; the outer expanse of Ba Sing Se is mostly rural farmland and forest, with the occasional lake or river, vast enough to sustain the inner ring’s population indefinitely during siege. A hindrance for the multiple generations of Fire Nation royalty who have attempted to conquer it. An insurmountable roadblock for two people trying to traverse it in the spirit world.

As they approach another brazier, Zuko looks to Katara, sees the way her lips press together, how she avoids eye contact.

“Katara,” he says as calmly as he can, “where are we going?”

“Jang Hui,” she replies smoothly, voice airy.

“Jang Hui... in the Fire Nation? As in, on Conquest Island? What — why? Why would we go there? Why?”

“To see the Painted Lady.”

She raises a brow at him as if challenging him to question her. At that, Zuko stops on the spot, refusing to participate any further in this insanity.

“We’re not _walking_ to the Fire Nation.”

Katara stops, too, looking exasperated with him, as if _he_ was the outrageous one.

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting that we would. But we can at least start heading that direction and see if we can hitch a ride.”

“From who? I think it’s pretty clear that none of the spirits like us.”

“All the more reason for them to help us leave.”

Zuko shakes his head.

“Do you even have any idea what you’re asking? It could take us weeks, _months_ , to make it there. Do you know how hard it is to survive in the spirit world?”

She whirls on him. “Do you?”

Memories surface unbidden in the forefront of his mind. On one of the long nights, during his banishment, when his crew had docked at some crumbling port town in the Earth Kingdom. It was one of the few times he had ever seen his uncle drunk. Zuko had been impatient to get back to their mission, and had, in hindsight, acted so, so difficult. He was so obsessed with where they were headed next, he wouldn’t even step foot on dry land, even as his crewmen spilled out one by one.

But that night, his uncle returned to the Wani with glassy eyes and an unusually somber disposition. He started talking about Lu Ten, and that shut Zuko up. Uncle never talked about Lu Ten.

He doesn’t quite remember how the conversation went, but at some point his uncle confessed something strange to him. He told him that he had travelled to the spirit world, to someplace called the “Basin of Souls”, thinking he could find him, his only son, and bring him back. His kind eyes darkened, a storm cloud passed over his face, shadowing it in a pain old and deep.

Zuko had scoffed without meaning to, not young or old enough to believe in the spirit world. Besides, gossip was everywhere back at the palace; everyone spoke of how Crown Prince Iroh had gone off the deep end after his son’s death, how grief had torn him apart, drove him to drink himself mad. Zuko had never believed a word of it, of course, but sometimes... sometimes he wondered where his uncle had gone during that time.

Now he knows.

“I know enough,” he says, voice hard. “It’s dangerous, Katara. We can’t spend much more time here.”

As if to punctuate the point, a breeze blows past them, threating to snuff out the flickering flame of the nearest brazier. The trees, twisted and dark unlike Zuko has ever seen, make strange howling noises, reminding him that they aren’t really in the outer area of Ba Sing Se, but in a strange reflection of it, a vision mirrored in a well of dark water.

“Well what do you suggest we do?” she asks, and Zuko’s surprised by the desperation in her voice.

It’s not like he _wants_ to kill her endless hope, but when he wracks his brain for something — anything — he comes up blank. He wishes he had his uncle to guide him, or even Aang but... it’s clear they can’t return to the city to find them.

“You really think the Painted Lady will help us?”

Katara licks her lips and gives a shaky nod.

“She would help me. At least she could tell us what to do.”

Zuko sighs, grimacing at the poorly lit forest road laid before them.

“I guess we’re in for a long walk.”

 

\--

 

 

Zuko hasn’t been afraid of the dark for over ten years. He hasn’t. But the deeper they go into these freaky spirit woods, the more on edge he gets. It’s just the energy here. It’s agitating; unsettling. There’s too much _life,_ or something, and it constantly makes him feel like they’re being watched.

The road gets smaller and smaller, until it’s merely a rut in the ground, buried under snarled black roots and thorns. There are no more braziers to guide them, and the canopy is too thick to let in light from the sky.

They walk in silence for a long time without passing a soul. Zuko can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. The farther they go, the more his confidence in this plan fades. It’s truly stupid. They should have stayed by the alley, tried harder to go back through the portal — busted their way back into the building if they had to. They should have walked the length of the wall, they would have come to another gate eventually, and surely _one_ of them would have let them back into the city. Instead, they’re walking AWAY from salvation.

But it was their only option, now, wasn’t it?

Walking to the fucking Fire Nation.

From Ba Sing Se.

To find some random river spirit Katara had met years ago.

Mai was going to kill him.

“Fuck,” he spits.

Katara twists to look at him over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He huffs.

“Besides everything? Mai’s going to be so pissed at me tomorrow when I don’t come back to the palace.”

“I know,” Katara says, sounding truly remorseful. “They’re going to be so worried come midnight when we don’t show up at the rendezvous. I’ll never hear the end of it from Sokka.”

“What about after that? What if days go by and no one hears from us? Mai already thinks I abandoned her once, I can’t put her through that again...”

He trails off, a new tendril of fear creeping up his chest.

“Oh Agni, what about my country? I have work to do!”

He freezes in the muck. Katara doesn’t wait for him, but her voice is gentle when she speaks.

“We won’t be gone long, okay? I promise. We’ll get this all sorted out.”

“What am I going to tell my people?” He groans and drags his feet forward again, kicking at the ground like a child. “I can’t say I got trapped in the spirit world, everyone will think I’m crazy.”

“Aang will vouch for you, probably. Besides—” she hops over a rock “—no one has to even know about this.”

“As soon as they notice we’re missing, it’s going to get out. There’ll be rumors we got assassinated or kidnapped or something.”

“You mean snatched?”

He shoots her a glare that she can’t even see. She seems to sense the energy behind it though.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. This sucks. It really does, I know. And it is partially my fault.”

He nods silently.

“But it’s not the end of the world.”

He disagrees, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Mai’s going to be so mad at me,” he says again after some time, his voice thick with hopelessness, “She’s going to call off the wedding.”

There’s another stretch of silence.

“You’re getting married?” Katara asks quietly.

His eyes widen, and he cringes.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I — it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh,” is all she says for a moment. “Congratulations, Zuko, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, flustered. “I guess this makes you the first person we’ve told.”

“You haven’t told your uncle yet?”

He shakes his head before realizing she can’t see it. “No. I was going to tell him when we got back to the Fire Nation. I only proposed to her a week ago. On her birthday.”

“Wow,” she breathes, “I had no idea.”

He furrows his brows, unsure of how to respond to that.

“So, when’s the wedding?”

A flock of birds takes off somewhere in the distance. The sound of their wings rips through the trees.

“Royal weddings are traditionally held in the spring, but other than that, I don’t know. I guess we haven’t planned that far ahead.”

Katara hums. Zuko feels oddly uncomfortable in walking in the lull that follows. He’d been hoping that when he eventually confessed the good news, he would feel relieved, maybe even more assured, but instead he just feels awkward. He purses his lips and searches for a change in topic.

“It’s just crazy to think about, I guess,” she says after a time. Her voice sounds wistful. “That we’re all growing up.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he responds mildly. And because he can’t think of anything else, he adds, “I’m surprised Sokka hasn’t asked Suki yet.”

“I’m sure he would. If they didn’t live so far apart.”

He frowns. That was sort of his fault, enlisting Suki and a handful of her Kyoshi warriors to be his personal bodyguards. There’s just no one else he can trust these days, no one competent enough.

“If you guys are finishing up projects in the South, he should move to Caldera,” he suggests, “There’s always room in the royal apartments.”

She gives him another non-committal hum, and they slip back into silence.

The spooky forest begins to thin out as they reach a hilly field. Finally, it seems, they can see the sky, and for the first time Zuko notices how downright unearthly it is. Though empty of stars, it glows brightly with colors that should have no place there — flecks of greens, violets, and golds; soft pinks and lightning blues — it’s like looking into the heart of a dark opal.

“It’s beautiful,” Katara breathes, standing frozen at the edge of the forest. Zuko moves to stand beside her.

There’s tall grass growing all around them, rich and glossy black unlike he has ever seen. He reaches out to touch it, and it shrinks away, the blades flattening to the ground.

“That’s odd,” Katara comments. Zuko glances over his shoulder to see her watching him. “Do you think it’s shy?”

He frowns.

“It’s _grass_.”

Katara just shrugs at him and keeps walking. Zuko narrows his eyes at the grass before taking off after her.

They follow the faint trail sloping down the knoll and over another hill. From this new vantage point, Zuko can see the valley stretching out for miles, hilltops covered in the strange black grass peeking out from under a blanket of low-hanging fog.

He almost misses the cover of the spooky forest. Here, with the horizon so far from reach, he feels small enough for the sky to swallow whole. But the exposure also puts them right in the line of sight of a tiny, pinprick of light flashing through the colorless damp.

It’s fire. It’s got to be. It calls out to him, pulls at his own inner flame.

“We should go that way,” he advises, knowing this with unwavering certainty.

Katara quirks a brow at him, but doesn’t object. The destination takes them off the faded path, makes them instead cut right through the grass. With every step they take, the inky blades quiver and bend away, as if he and Katara were emitting a gentle, outward breeze.

They drop further into the valley, dipping under the surface of the hanging fog, where it becomes harder and harder to see. He tries and fails to wipe the sticky feeling from his face and clothes.

When they crest over another hill, they find themselves looking out over a small farm. The farmland is entirely barren, and the farmhouse itself looks like it’s barely holding together by the wild grace of overgrown webs of ivy. Zuko would have been certain the place were abandoned, if not for the dying candle nestled in a lantern hanging from the porch. It’s the light that called him.

There’s something else that catches his eye. Next to the farmhouse, there’s the unmistakable structure of a stable, with saddles and even a wagon visible from where they stand.

It feels like an enormous weight lifts from his shoulders. His sore feet could run them there, he’s so relieved by the sight. Now they have actual transportation. Katara must realize this, too, because she stops in her tracks.

“Actually, let’s walk around,” she says suddenly.

Zuko stops as well, turning on her with an incredulous look. “Why?”

Katara just gives a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, eyes never leaving the farm. He looks to the stable, then back to her, and huffs.

“You were the one who wanted to hitch a spirit ride, and look — there’s a stable. If there’s anyone home, maybe we can buy an ostrich horse from them.”

She shifts her weight in the black grass.

“How would we buy it? You think spirits take gold?”

He ponders that for a moment, wondering when she would just get to the point.

“I have no idea. But it’s worth a shot, right?”

Still, Katara hesitates. Her whole body is oriented away from the farm, barely edging back up the hill like she’s ready to bolt at the drop of a hat.

“I... I don’t know. I’m getting really weird vibes from that place. Can’t you feel that?”

Now that he thinks of it, he has felt something. There’s something subtly different about the air. With his excitement at seeing the stable, he almost didn’t notice. Everything seems unnaturally still, a moment suspended in time. Even the grass has stopped moving.

“This whole place has felt weird,” he counters honestly, “I think that’s just how the spirit world is. Tense and weird.”

Katara still seems apprehensive. He can tell be the way she folds her arms tightly across her chest, and the way the skylight glints off her eyes as she stares the place down.

“Wait, you’re not... scared, are you?”

She makes an indignant little noise. “I’m not scared.”

“You are,” he says, almost in awe. “You weren’t freaked out by that crazy witch, or that gravel-voiced thing, or the baboon’s spirit mob, but you’re afraid now?”

She looks sharply at him, but the shadow of a passing cloud shrouds her expression.

“I said I wasn’t afraid. I’m just being cautious. That place is giving me a bad feeling, like, there’s a dark energy about it. I — I think the spirits don’t want us there.”

“Katara,” he steps closer to her, and she flinches visibly. Emboldened by this discovery, he teases lowly, “you’re trembling.”

It’s a bluff. He has no idea if she’s trembling. In truth, he can’t even imagine her doing such a recreant thing. But the mere suggestion of it gets the response he was aiming for. She shoves past him towards the farm, muttering to herself, with shoulders squared like she’s going into battle.

“Spirits, you’re an idiot.”

He can’t help it; he breaks out it a shit-eating grin he’s glad she can’t see.

That cockiness fades quickly, however, as they draw closer to the farm. There’s just something so dismal about the place. Even the light’s call seems weaker, more sorrowful, as it flickers pathetically in its metal cage. The nearer they get, the harder it is to keep walking forward.

When they reach the porch steps, Zuko is stabbed by an inexplicable panic, so sudden and chilling that a shudder rips through him, leaving gooseflesh all over his body in its wake. But he can’t show any outward signs of fear. Katara would jump on it, use it as an excuse to turn back. And this place called to him for a reason, he’s sure of it.

It leaves only one way to go, further into this pit of despair. He gets what Katara means now, about this being a place of darkness. The energy around them is swaddled in a fog of suffering and desperation. Everything that came before this moment now seems impossibly far away.

By some unspoken rule, they take their time walking up the short steps to the door. Every movement causes the rotting wood to cry in protest. It sounds obscenely loud in the heavy silence of night. When they’re finally on the porch, faced with the door, Zuko feels his muscles have been replaced with stone. They refuse to take him any further.

“Zuko—”

“I know,” he says, reacting instantly to the thread of fear in her voice, and forces his fist to hover over the wood.

The moment stretches on. _Knock_ , he tells himself, but his arm just won’t obey. He simply stares at the door, every mildewed splinter mocking him.

Finally Katara shoves forward and raps on the door.

They leap backwards together, apparently both expecting someone to just burst out of the wood. Instead, they’re received by more silence. They exchange a glance. After a tense moment, Zuko knocks again, pounding on the door half as hard as he should if he were actually fully wishing to see whomever was in there.

“Hello?” Katara calls. “Is anybody home?”

A movement behind the window catches them both by surprise. Katara yelps and crashes into him, pushing them both back a step. A sickly pale face stares up at them through the dusty glass pane, regarding them. There are two tiny spots of light shining where its eyes should be.

Neither of he nor Katara moves a muscle, frozen by either bravery or terror.

The figure creeps towards the door, disappearing from the window. The doorknob turns slowly. Katara clutches at Zuko’s hand, and he squeezes hers in return, preparing for that thing to come out at any moment. But the door just falls open, providing barely enough space for a single person to slip through.

They stare into the dark house, hand in hand.

“I think it wants us to go in,” she whispers.

Fuck that. He was wrong. The ostrich horse isn’t worth this.

He’s about to say as much when Katara lets out a steely breath and releases his hand, waltzing right through the door like a suicidal maniac. He reaches out into the dark, fingers brushing against her shoulder, stomach lurching after her, before she disappears completely. After only a moment’s hesitation, he follows her inside, knowing instinctually that they shouldn’t be separated here. And although it’s terrifying, somehow the thought of turning his back to this place is worse than facing it head on.

So when his eyes adjust to the low light, he’s stunned to find that inside, it looks like a normal old house. Modest, but homely. Cozy, even. A few children’s toys have been left scattered on the floor. The low table near the fireplace is set for tea. He begins to feel ridiculously foolish for being so frightened of it.

Another door opens somewhere in the house, and the shifting air causes the door behind them to slam shut.

“Hello?” Katara calls into the darkness.

They’re met with charged quiet.

She tries again. “We were wondering if anyone here knows the way back to the mortal world?”

Nothing.

Zuko clears his throat and adds, “If not, we’re prepared to offer you hefty compensation for your ostrich horse.”

His ears prick up at the soft harshness of whispering. He whips his head to Katara.

“What?” he asks.

“What what?”

“Did you say something?”

“No.”

The whispering gets a bit louder, flitting around the corners of the room. His spine tingles at the sound, the awakening of a childishly bullish curiosity.

“Can’t you hear that?” he murmurs.

It sounds like it’s coming from different people, somewhere behind the walls. It’s still too quiet to make out any words. Drawn to it, he inches closer, reaching out to touch the wood paneling.

“Zuko, stop messing with me,” Katara hisses, stomping up to him, “it’s not funny.”

He shushes her, leaning on his palms against the wall to listen better.

_They’re coming._

“Who’s coming? You’re freaking me out.”

He turns back to Katara with a frown. Did he repeat that? He pulls away from the wall, feeling the wood crumble under his touch. His hands come away cold and covered in soot.

He strides around the low table to the window. The fog is so heavy outside that he can barely make out the edge of the porch, let alone the surrounding hills. But as he searches, he sees an angry orange glow burn through the mist, torchlight spilling into the valley. He hears someone scream in the back of his mind.

_They’re here._

“They’re here.”

“Who’s here?” Katara’s voice is high and reedy. “What are you looking at?”

Can’t she see it? They’re coming for them. He can hear it his head, the voiceless chant burned into his memory — _“Cleanse them with Fire! Anoint them with Blood!”_ — an old military cadence of the Fire Nation. They need to get out of here, to hide—

_To the cellar, sweetie._

“The cellar,” he repeats, his voice ringing out before the words consciously register.

He grabs Katara roughly by the arm and surges to the opposite corner of the room. He hadn’t noticed before, how the sofa there has been displaced, almost thrown from the wall. Where it used to be rests a trapdoor, which he swings open. Katara stands above him, protesting the whole time.

“Hey! What are you doing? I’m not going in there. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

It’s dark down there, even darker than in the house. But he can hear the whispers encouraging him, growing louder as he chases them down the stairs. Despite her complaints, Katara follows him. Her fists bury themselves in the back of his tunic as if she’s afraid he’ll disappear if not anchored.

_Wait for us._

“We shouldn’t do this. I can’t see anything,” Katara says as she follows him down, and did her voice break a little or was that his imagination?

Zuko wishes she could understand. She doesn’t have to be afraid. They’ll be safe down here, they’ll be hidden.

_Hide._

“They’ll come back for us,” he tries to assure her. His foot doesn’t hit the next stair. They must be at the bottom. The air is musty and dank with earth. “They promised.”

_Please don’t leave me._

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, stepping into the darkness. “Where are you?”

He steps closer, but the whispers keep falling away.

_I’m here!_

He sees something move in the shadows. Or, more accurately, the shadows themselves seem to shift and churn before his eyes. There it is; a dark spot of pure black, an inky blot of absolute colorlessness, sliding over the other shades.

_No matter what happens..._

_Come back!_

_Where are you?_

_I can’t see._

_It’s so hot._

_I can’t breathe._

_I don’t know what’s happening._

_Zuko, please, stop._

_Come back._

_It’s freezing._

A girl is sobbing somewhere. Is it Katara?

 

Then it lunges for him, arcing through the cramped space, and he’s assaulted with the smell of rot and smoke and old blood. It was beyond a shadow. It was lack of meaning. Like every light in the world had died. There was no breeze from its motion. In fact, there was no air at all.

“It’s too hot!” it shrieks.

Right before it touches him, he’s yanked out of its path.

“Zuko, run!”

He’s dragged up the stairs faster than his feet can carry him. He scrambles to keep up, to outrun the shadow at his heels, but the cold wraps around him, seeps through his clothes.

“It’s got me,” he chokes out, feeling it pierce him with its claws, splintering his very soul. “It’s so cold.”

Even as his muscles give out, Katara keeps pulling him, and suddenly they’re out of the house. The shadow is violently shed from him as he passes through the doorway. It’s so bright out here. The fog—no, it isn’t fog, it’s _smoke_ —clogs the air and ignites all around them. When he looks back at the house, it’s on fire.

And in the window, he sees himself and Katara, faces deathly pale, staring back at them with tiny spots of light where their eyes should be.

“Don’t let it trick you!” Katara pleads with him, rutting her heels in the ground and pulling hard on his arm. “We have to keep moving!”

Zuko tears his gaze from the apparition and back to Katara. Her face is coated in ash, contorted in fear and desperation, and her eyes are wild and shining in the firelight. His mind is still floating somewhere outside his body, and he can’t do anything but watch as the chaos closes in on them.

“Please,” she whispers hoarsely.

That yanks him out of his daze. Sensation hits him from all directions, and suddenly everything is so _real_ , from the roaring of the flames to the scorched earth rising and falling against his feet.

“What happened?” he asks as they round the stables. “What is that?”

A huge black beast bucks and lashes at the leather binds tethering it to the burning stable wall. It practically screams against the heat licking at its hooves. It isn’t an ostrich horse at all—it looks like, it looks like just a horse, if such an absurd thing could be possible.

Katara’s sudden, painful grip on his shoulder reclaims his attention once more. She presses into him with an intense but gentle stare.

“Just focus, alright? We have to leave. Now.”

He seems to operate on reflex as he joins her on the animal’s unsaddled back, watches as she rips gracelessly at its leather binds. The creature bellows under their shared weight, but with a sharp kick to its flank, Katara spurs it out of the burning stable at an instant run.

He wraps his arms around her waist as they race out of the valley. The wind roars and bites at his face, and he twists against it, staring in shock as the farm goes up in flames behind them. Only when he’s certain they’ve put enough distance between them and the farm does he turn back around.

“What _happened?_ ” he calls over Katara’s shoulder.

Her hair brushes against his chin when she shakes her head. The muscles in her back are rigid against his chest. He feels a faint shiver run down her core.

“I—I don’t know. That, that _thing,_ I—”

She doesn’t finish, and the answer does nothing to help him.

“Did you see it, too then? The thing that touched me? That spoke to me?” he probes.

Her face tilts slightly towards him, still keeping her gaze locked straight ahead. He tries to read her from the profile of her cheekbone, the shadow beneath her jaw, the parting of her lips.

“I’m sorry, Zuko,” she forces out. Her voice is so tight it’s almost carried away by the wind. “I didn’t know it touched you.”

Her lower lip wobbles and she snaps her head forward. He removes a hand from where it’s locked on his forearm around her lap and gently grips her elbow, physically disrupting her from slipping out of the conversation.

“Do you know what it was, then?” he asks sharply.

“No,” she says immediately, shaking her head again with fervor. Her curls bounce against his nose. “But,” she continues haltingly, sparing him a full glance over her shoulder that’s at once deathly solemn and pitifully nonplussed, “whatever it was, it wanted... to _take you._ ”

There’s an unexpectedly protective bite to her words that steals his next breath. He squeezes her middle a little tighter in a clumsy attempt at a reassuring hug.

“It didn’t get, me though,” he insists, feeling like he’s half-assuring himself, “I mean, I thought it did, it touched me, but—but you saved me. You pulled me out.”

A pale sliver crests over the horizon, glowing in the skylight. They must be getting close to the outer wall.

“Let’s just not have any more close calls, okay?” she says lightly, drawing an unexpected cough of laughter from his chest.

“Agreed.”

He tilts his head back, basking in the colors of the sky, letting it wash away the nightmare they’ve left behind. But relief is weightless; it bleeds away in the gales of wind as they blow past. Worry, on the other hand, sinks in his stomach like a stone. Worry forces him to still see it—that _creature_ —with almost perfect clarity, lurking in the corner of his mind. He presses his lips together and looks pointedly forward.

Up ahead, the wall starts to loom over them. He grips Katara tighter as she steers them to the side.

They escaped this time, but only just. How could he have been so stupid? To forget himself so fully, to let himself get lured in there, putting both him and Katara at risk? He sets his jaw in determination. He’ll be more careful next time. He needs to be.

They ride alongside the length of the wall for a near eternity before they reach a gate. It takes unexpected effort to approach it; their not-so-ostrich ostrich-horse starts protesting and resisting direction at the very sight of it. It takes so much coaxing that they eventually just give up and dismount. But as soon as he and Katara are both planted on the ground, the creature melts away like a shadow to the sun.

“Just great,” she mutters, making an exasperated face at the space where the animal disappears. Her fingers get tangled in the mess of her windblown curls as she tries to smooth them out of her face. She grimaces at herself.

As Zuko watches this all play out, he realizes that, for the first time since they left the city, he can see her with acute clarity. His eyes widen as he takes in the landscape. Sure enough, shapes in the distance are colored in that blackish blue that defines the cusp of morning. The strange black grass shimmers with shades of purple he hadn’t noticed before. Even the colors in the sky are shifting, getting lighter and softer like pastel paint.

By the time they walk through the gate and out of Ba Sing Se, it’s finally dawn.


End file.
